


As basic as bread

by Butterfish



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery, Dreams, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfish/pseuds/Butterfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants to see the world - at least that's what he's been told he wants. But perhaps the town's new baker Alfred can make him realise it's okay to stay local.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As basic as bread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haku](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Haku).



The small bakery smelled of dusty cinnamon, bitter coffee and sweet honey, and the moment Arthur stepped inside he felt himself wrapped warmly in the many scents which tickled his nose and made his mouth water. Surely it was all just bread; Mama Maria didn’t sell cakes and only had a sparse selection of pastries, but when freshly baked even the hard wholegrain buns stacked in the weaved baskets by the window looked delicious. In rows behind the counter thick squares of rye bread and crispy white bread baked with different spices were displayed with funky names such as ‘Hungry Honey’ and ‘Crunchy Coriander’, and Arthur found himself getting lost in the many options as a man stumbled out from the back room with flour in his hair and a tea towel between his hands.

“Sorry! Sorry. Maria has a day off and it’s only me and I didn’t hear the bell chime,” the guy blabbered flustered and smacked the towel onto the counter as he leaned in over it to get a better look at Arthur. “Can I help you with anything?”

And Arthur stared up at the man and grabbed at his soaked scarf as he mumbled: “Uh, I would like some bread.”

Truth be told, Arthur normally didn’t go to the bakery and he had no clue what good bread was. Like his friends from sixth form he preferred studying at the Starbucks on the corner of Kingstreet; there he could get his caramel chocolate and sticky muffins stuffed with sugary cream, and he felt comfortable among the Macbooks and big-glassed girls who all knew the names of the awkward songs played by some infamous indie band. In here there was no music, just the tall stacks of bread, and the only coffee being brewed was on the old machine he could spot in the back. It was all as old-fashioned as the man standing before him with sun-kissed skin, golden hair peeking out from beneath the flour and bright, blue eyes. The man had the kind of face you could find on an old add for used cars, Arthur thought; a bit too friendly and a bit too handsome.

The guy laughed. “Well, at least you’re in the right shop, but I’ll need a more specific reply,” he said with a wry smile as he rested his weight onto his elbows. He was watching Arthur carefully. “What do you need it for?”

“Eh…” Arthur mumbled as he tried to remember why exactly he was told to pick up bread after class had ended, but after a few seconds of silence he could only manage to shrug a useless: “For my parents.”

“Oh,” the guy replied and scratched his chin. Arthur started to feel his face heat up as the questions kept coming: “For lunch? Breakfast?”

“I really don’t know,” he replied helplessly and dug his nose into the edge of his scarf, “sorry, this is well embarrassing. My mum just asked me to pick up some bread. I don’t know if she realised just how many different kinds there are.” He glanced around at the shelves stacked with baguettes, bread rolls and a few chocolaty pastries stuck together with thick icing. “And neither did I.”

“That’s okay, it’s easy to get used to the supermarket’s selection,” the guy said and waved his hand around as he spoke, “I mean, it’s always the same bread and the same old buns on offer. 50% off if you buy them the day before they go off and such. And people do, they get used to the taste. But real bread, boy, nothing beats that.” And he nodded his head and looked at Arthur with such a grave glimpse to his eyes that he too could only nod.

“Of course. Yeah,” he stuttered.

“Yeah,” the guy said thoughtfully and wiped his hands off in the towel again before he suddenly reached in over the counter. “Sorry, I forgot – I’m Alfred. I’m the new baker.”

Arthur gave the guy’s hand a short shake. “Uh, I’m Arthur. I don’t normally come here if you couldn’t tell,” he said with a faint smile and Alfred grinned:

“I can see that, then you wouldn’t just ask for bread. But I can help you out, no problem, we have all sorts. Whatever you like. ‘Almond Anarchy’, ‘Canadian Coffee’, ‘Sugary Sandy’…” Alfred turned as he quickly read a few names of the breads while letting his fingers slide along the edge of the shelves. “Weird names, I know, but Maria insists that it brings personality to the place.”

“Maria, is that the old lady that’s normally here?” Arthur asked as he tried to recall the plump, Italian woman he normally saw peeking out from behind the bread whenever someone passed by the window. She always wore a hairnet and big, golden earrings. Arthur had sometimes wondered if they would get more customers had she been a tall, young girl instead.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Alfred said, “good old Maria. She’s had this place for twenty years, can you believe it? No wonder she got tired of doing all the work herself. Her son is one of the bakers, what was his name… Carlo! Yeah, he’s a good guy but he can’t make it alone either. So they got me into their family business. Not that I’m very Italian!” He laughed and Arthur just smiled. Alfred seemed like the kind of guy who could easily entertain himself and didn’t need a reply as long as someone listened. At least he didn’t expect one; he reached down and grabbed a loaf from the lowest shelf and presented it to Arthur. “You should try this,” he said.

Arthur took in a deep breath. The white loaf smelled like honey. “What is it?”

“It’s delicious, that’s what it is – honey, whole milk and sugar, that’s some of the ingredients. Try it and tell me how you like it. That’s my suggestion.”

“Okay,” Arthur shrugged, “okay I will,” and he watched as Alfred slipped the bread into a bag and handed it to him. He was about to reach for his wallet as Alfred did a wave.

“On me for now,” he said with a playful look on his face. “If you like it you can come back and pay for it. If you don’t, well, then I was wrong. Deal?”

Arthur glared at his hand as Alfred reached out again. “You’re surely energetic,” he said.

“I know my bread and I know you’ll like it, so I’m not losing anything. Deal?” Alfred repeated and Arthur finally sighed, grinned and then shook his hand.

“Deal.”

—

“Here’s what I owe you!”

The little bell above the door chimed as Arthur entered the warm bakery and placed four quid on the counter. There was a moment of silence in the shop before he heard the sound of shoes being dragged across the floor and Alfred’s head soon peeked out from the door in the back.

He smiled brightly as he saw Arthur. “Hey! So you liked the bread?”

“My parents loved it,” Arthur said and pulled the scarf around his neck loose. He pursed his lips a little and added: “And so did I.”

“Yes! I knew you would,” Alfred smiled happily and picked up the coins as he dropped them into the worn till and slammed the drawer shut. “The day’s bound to be good now. Do you want another loaf?”

“No, I’m on my way to school.”

“Secondary?”

Arthur grimaced. “Sixth form college, please.”

“I was just joking,” Alfred assured him, but Arthur didn’t look convinced. He tightened the strap on his brown leather bag and lightly drummed his fingertips down its front while Alfred watched him. “Are you in your last year?”

“Yeah. I’m going to finish and then I’m out of here,” Arthur said with relief to his voice.

Alfred fiddled a little with his dirty apron as he listened to him speak. It was covered in flour, chocolate and spots of icing. He dipped his thumb into a thick drop of white icing and swiftly sucked it off the nail. “Why are you in such a hurry? It’s a nice town.”

“Maybe if you just moved here,” Arthur said. “But I’ve been living here all my life. It’s getting boring. I want to go see the world.”

“It’s not as big as it sounds,” Alfred said with hesitation to his voice and Arthur wrinkled his brows.

“What do you mean?”

The bell chimed in the same. They both turned as an elderly lady hobbled inside clutching tightly onto a wooden cane. She blinked towards them and nodded so deeply her tiny, red hat almost tipped off. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Alfred beamed and Arthur merely nodded. They glanced at each other and they both nodded again.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Arthur said and raised his hand in a short wave before slipping out past the lady. As he glanced over his shoulder before the door slammed shut, he saw Alfred fully engaged in helping the woman the best he could. For some reason he couldn’t help but to wonder why the world seemed tiny to Alfred.

—

Having lived in the same town for all of his life had taught Arthur a few things. First of all he knew that the shop behind Tescos was run by a guy who never asked to see an ID when buying beer. Secondly he knew that the old man living by the church was always angry and would shout at whoever passed by his house on his side of the street. But more importantly he was sure that the town he lived in was the most boring place on earth.

Growing up he’d liked the town; surely the houses were old and the nearest city was miles away – one had to drive for more than an hour through woods and empty fields to get closer to civilisation. But life had been calm and quiet, every day had seemed sunny and he’d always found something to do with his time. But his friends hadn’t had the same optimism.

“This place sucks,” they used to say while flickering through glossy magazines in the supermarket. They would look at pictures from old China and tall houses in the states, and they would read tales from spicy India and wonder why anyone would live where they lived when the world appeared greater. “This is the real world. We’re just stuck in the wrong place, ” they said and for every time they repeated it, Arthur started believing it more, and he thought to himself that if he really was stuck, he should free himself as soon as possible.

But Alfred didn’t seem to think in this way and it made Arthur curious as to why. The next time he got to chat with him was a Saturday as he was hanging in over the counter watching him brewing coffee in the back of the store. He’d bought a bun with candid peel and he was chewing on a big chunk of it as he asked:

“So what did you really mean by what you said last time. About the world not being big.”

Alfred grabbed two cups off of a shelf and poured them each some coffee before slowly walking back behind the counter. “Well, it just isn’t,” he said and shrugged.

“Have you ever seen a map?”

Alfred smiled wryly and handed Arthur a cup. “Yeah, smart-ass, I have,” he said and watched Arthur grin. “It looks huge but it really isn’t. Once you get out in it you realise people are the same all over; they have the same dreams and hopes and wants.”

“But dreaming in Spain is different from dreaming in England,” Arthur said and had a sip of his coffee. He grimaced; Alfred had made it way too strong.

Alfred had a sip too as he glanced out the window. The street wasn’t busy; it was raining heavily and either people were hurrying past to get home quickly, or they were walking with colourful umbrellas enjoying the chilly breeze. His gaze followed a young woman with a pram jogging past the shop. “But in both countries you’ll find people saying: ‘Oh boy, things are surely better elsewhere.’ Things always look better elsewhere.”

“Especially on a photoshopped picture in a magazine?”

“Are we still talking about countries only?” Alfred joked and Arthur huffed:

“Come on.”

“Okay, well, I used to travel a lot. A whole lot,” Alfred said and put down his cup. “I’ve been all over Europe and some countries in Asia. I’ve even crossed parts of Africa.”

“Wow,” Arthur mumbled surprised. He hadn’t expected that from a simple baker.

Alfred shrugged lightly. “Well, I just learned that no matter where I went, I kept longing for more because I thought there would be somewhere even better, even more exciting. But you don’t really appreciate a place before you settle down.”

“That was a quick conclusion,” Arthur said and nibbled on his bread while keeping a close eye on Alfred’s face. “Why did you travel so much? What made you settle here?” He licked at a piece of the candid peel and shivered at its tough taste. He had to have a quick gulp of coffee right away.

Alfred wasn’t paying attention to him. He was biting the nail on his thumb while glancing down into his own cup. He seemed to be considering his reply and his lips moved hesitantly. “Well, everything just became a bit too much,” he finally replied after a few long seconds and he looked at Arthur with a helpless smile.

“Hmm,” Arthur mumbled, but he didn’t ask any more questions. They both picked up their cups and emptied them in one gulp. “Thanks for the coffee.” Arthur put down the empty cup and Alfred winked at him as he picked it up.

“Any time, adventurer.”

—

Any time soon became every day. Something about Alfred fascinated Arthur and kept him hanging around for more. He would ask him to tell tales from the countries he’d visited and sometimes he could make him give detailed descriptions of foreign cities and how they smelled and tasted and sounded. But Alfred himself wasn’t keen on these stories. He would much rather talk about bread and buns, and something in his eyes started shining every time Arthur allowed him to elaborate on a new recipe he’d tried out or when he got to show off a sack of corn that had just arrived from a local farm.

“This bread is stunningly light,” Alfred would say and slice Arthur a taste, or: “This bun is great with jam!” and serve him one on a plate, or: “Do you know what Danish pastries taste like?” and bag him some for lunch. They would have a cup of coffee while eating and chatting, and Arthur soon found that the bakery was a much cosier place to hang out at than Starbucks. Surely his coffee was plain and often a bit too bitter, and when Alfred once in a while turned the radio on it was to listen to the news rather than music (unless a really good, mainstream pop-hit came on – in that case he would jiggle around the floor). But the bakery had one thing Starbucks couldn’t offer and that was Alfred. Unlike their workers, Alfred was always cheerful, he always had time for a chat, and he never hesitated when asked if he liked his work. “I love it here!” was his response and no one would doubt the grin that followed – such happiness couldn’t be faked.

A few weeks later as Arthur was having his usual coffee with Alfred the bell chimed and he turned to see two of his friends from school entering. Laura, a small girl with bright, blue hair cut short, and John, a broad guy with friendly, brown eyes, stepped inside and grinned at Arthur the moment they saw him.

“Hey!” Laura said and quickly gave him a hug. Her skin was still cold from the breeze. “So it’s here you hang out!”

“Small place,” John commented as he looked around and he shortly nodded at Alfred who straightened up at the counter.

He went to turn the radio off.

“Oh, hey,” Arthur stuttered surprised. “You found me?”

“Yeah, were you hiding?” Laura asked teasingly and pinched his cheek. “You never show up at Starbucks anymore, so we started to wonder what had happened.”

“She spotted you through the window,” John said and gestured towards Laura.

“Well I wasn’t hiding,” Arthur said and glanced at Alfred before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is Alfred, he’s a new baker in town.”

“Well, _was_ ,” Alfred corrected him with a wry smile.

“Aren’t you young for a baker?” Laura asked and Arthur hesitated – he realised he’d never even asked Alfred about his age.

“I’m twenty-five,” he replied. “It’s not that unusual. What’s unusual is that I’ve pretty much taken over the running of this shop,” Alfred said and leaned his weight onto the counter.

“Yeah, that must suck,” John said and looked around. “Just bread in here.”

“It’s actually pretty nice,” Arthur defended the place weakly, but no one seemed to listen; Laura was looking at the sparse selection of pastries.

“Don’t you have any cakes?” she asked and Alfred shook his head. “Wow, that’s boring.”

“I’ve read about a bakery in New York that’s got two floors filled with cakes,” John said.

Laura nodded eagerly. “And I’ve seen pictures on Flickr from… I can’t remember, somewhere in Europe, probably France? Anyway it’s this bakery which only do smart organic food.” She turned to Alfred curiously: “Is the stuff in here eco-friendly?”

“Well…” Alfred seemed lost for words and John popped his hands into the depths of his pockets as he shook his head lightly.

“Want to head off to Starbucks?” he asked Arthur.

Arthur peeled at his cup of coffee. “I’m fine.”

“We’ll order you a muffin,” Laura said.

“Really, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself. See you in school Monday.” John nodded at Arthur before grabbing Laura by the shoulders and dragging her out of the store whining joyfully. As the door closed, an awkward silence took over the shop.

Alfred picked up a tea towel and slowly wiped the counter. He cleared his throat. “So those are your friends from school?”

“Yeah…” Arthur mumbled. He’d blushed a little; inside he felt boiling with embarrassment about what had just happened, mostly because of the sorry look in Alfred’s eyes. “They’re very hooked on foreign places.”

“Just like you,” Alfred said and folded the towel.

Arthur grimaced a little. “Well, not really in that way. I mean-”

“It’s okay,” Alfred interrupted him and emptied his cup. He licked his lips as he was done and only looked shortly at Arthur. “I know this place is a bore to guys like you. It’s fine. Each to their own.” He grabbed the towel and went into the back to drop the cup into the sink.

“Well, I don’t think you’re a bore!” Arthur called at him, but he wasn’t sure if he heard it. He could just see him through the doorway standing cleaning up the cup with care though they had a machine to do the same. He bit the inner of his cheek and waited a few seconds before slipping down his chair and leaving the bakery.

—

“Hey, have you got a moment?”

Arthur stopped and turned surprised as he saw Alfred standing in the bakery’s doorway looking out at him. He hadn’t spoken with the guy in the last week; the last conversation they had had ended awkwardly and somehow he hadn’t found it in him to return for their usual chat. The times he’d passed by the shop he’d looked at the window and wondered if Alfred was annoyed at his friends, but this time he hadn’t even given it a thought; it was in the early evening and the bakery closed an hour ago, and he’d thought everyone had already gone home.

But there Alfred was with flour still in his hair, dough on his hands and a shy smile on his face, and Arthur couldn’t help but to nod and mumble: “Of course,” as he walked back and entered the store.

It was dark in the front, but light was shining in the back room. He stood at the counter as he watched Alfred walk into the back and he glared at the empty baskets and cleaned showcase. There were no smells, no tastes lingering in the air and not even a crumble from the delicate pastries. It made him shiver a little; the bakery seemed almost haunted when it was this empty.

Alfred returned to the doorway and looked at Arthur by the counter. He waved at him: “Are you coming?” and Arthur blushed as nodded as he quickly slipped behind the counter and into the back room.

Arthur had never been in the back of any store before. Somehow it seemed somewhat holy; it was a place for the workers only and such closed doors stating ‘Workers only’ always seemed secretive and exciting. But it was nothing special; here was the cleaned tables used to handle the dough on, and the big ovens, and the mixers and other machines which use Arthur couldn’t guess just from looking at them. Everything was closed down but for a single oven – a little light on its front was blinking red. Alfred put on some thick gloves before opening the oven and reaching inside. He pulled put a single, warm bread, but despite its small size the smell from it immediately took over the room and overwhelmed its else clean feel. Arthur’s nostrils widened as he smelled honey. It had to be the same bread like the one Alfred first suggested to him.

“I really like bread,” Alfred said as he approached Arthur and put it on the table.

Arthur couldn’t help a laugh. “I know,” he said.

“As you know I used to travel a lot,” Alfred continued and leaned against the tabletop, “but it wasn’t because I wanted to.”

“Oh?”

Alfred pulled over two chairs and they both sat down.

Arthur rested his hands in his lap as he watched Alfred’s face; he was glancing down at the floor before looking Arthur in the eyes as he started speaking:

“I travelled because my parents could never settle. We went everywhere. We saw everything. At most we spent a year in a country. I didn’t really have a stable place to settle down. Maybe it sounds weird to you, but you come to miss such basic things in life like having a well-known home in a town you know every street of. People think happiness is in the unknown but the known can be just as good.” He bit his inner cheek and looked away with a little huff: “Well, at least when you miss it.”

Arthur nodded as he spoke. “That makes sense,” he said a little surprised. He wasn’t sure what to reply to Alfred or why he was telling him all this.

Alfred reached for a bag on another table and put the bread into it. It almost steamed from the white paper as he wrapped it up. “I just don’t want you to be fooled, because I think you’re more clever than you want others to know. You don’t need the big world if you’re happy where you’re at. It’s a myth you need to travel to be happy. An experience can be found in the simplest of things.”

Arthur watched Alfred and wrinkled his brows a little. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Sure.”

“Why become a baker?”

Alfred hesitated, but then slowly he smiled and a short laugh escaped his lips. “I told you – I longed for the very simple things when I travelled. I longed for the very basics in life,” and he handed Arthur the bag of bread as he asked: “What’s more basic than bread?”

Arthur took the bag and sighed a little smile. “Thanks.”

“Think about it,” Alfred said and Arthur nodded.

“I will.”

—

Perhaps he’d always needed a new way to look at the world, a little reminder of how he used to think about the town and the things he’d experienced, but no matter the reason Alfred’s words had gotten Arthur thinking. The following days he passed the bakery and glanced in at the breads with a new ponder to his eyes that he couldn’t shrug off - and an even greater curiosity whenever his gaze locked with Alfred’s and he had to speed up to get to school in time and not get lost in daydreaming.

But whatever Alfred’s intention had been as he pulled Arthur into the back room, he probably couldn’t have anticipated what happened a few weeks later as the bell chimed and he saw Arthur walking into the store.

“Hey,” Alfred smiled and leaned against the counter. He was chewing on his inner cheek as he watched Arthur walking closer. “How are you?”

“Great, where do I start?” Arthur asked and walked right behind the counter and into the back room.

Alfred blinked, turned and watched in confusion as Arthur unzipped his jacket to reveal a tee beneath stating the name of the bakery, _Mama Maria_.

“Where did you get that?” he asked and Arthur smiled at him.

“I called Maria yesterday asking if she had a free spot. She said she would like someone to help you out here since Carlo hardly ever shows up for work. So here I am.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, and Alfred leaned against the doorway as he scratched his cheek.

“There you are indeed,” he mumbled and watched him with kind eyes.

“It’s only a few hours every day after school,” Arthur said and dropped his arms to his sides. “But, well, it’s a start. To get the basics right.”

“Yeah, let me teach you the basics,” Alfred said and handed Arthur an apron, and as he glanced into Alfred’s happy, blue eyes and found him nodding, he knew he’d made the right choice. Alfred was local, but as exciting as the pictures from the glossy magazines – and his grin wasn’t even photoshopped.


End file.
